My old friend Musha, born 16 December 1995 in Suffolk, died 7 March 2013, at about 5pm. Buried today in what we used to call the iris garden - his favourite place at Chatillon, because it is always so warm there. I think it will probably be Musha's garden now. Yesterday the two of us went down and looked at the crocuses flowering on the lawn, just before his last trip to the vet. He was buried with a little bunch of snowdrop 'Sam Arnott' between his paws. Rather marvellously, the noon bells at Chatillon started ringing just as I was filling in his grave.

I remember more than a few things about my dear old boy, obviously. The most precious? When I went to fetch him as a kitten, he 'fixed' on me, like ducklings do with their mothers. He didn't want to let me out of his sight. Even Nancy, the lovely woman who bred him, remarked on it. He was a bit like that throughout his life. When he wasn't off killing rabbits, that is. Nick would say, 'Oh no, Mush, don't go out tonight in that hat ... not the one with the rabbit ears on it!' I was always frightened he would be shot! He and his brother Suri were named after two little brothers who offered the Buddha a mud pie as a present. He was a very compassionate cat. He used to come and sit near me if I was crying (the only cat I've ever had that would do this). He also had a very annoying (and painful) nose-biting habit. It was love. We had a real Romeo and Juliet moment when he disappeared once for five weeks. I put an ad in the paper two weeks running and the second week a lady rang me up to say there was a cat of his description (a muscular kind of Siamese) living in her paddock. She said that he would come out and sun himself every evening and she saw him 'expertly' catching rabbits. I left work at lunchtime that day (I was working at Oxford Botanic Gardens at the time) and went over to her place, only about 3 miles away from where we lived in Lillingstone Dayrell, Buckinghamshire. Couldn't find him - but was inspired by a sense of 'who he was' to return. Back at rabbiting time, just as the sun was beginning to go down. There was a very long beech hedge next to her house. I walked up and down next to it calling his name and - suddenly a little head popped out. We ran towards each other in soft focus, slow motion. One of our happiest moments together.Nick remembers that when he and I first met back at 3 Seven Gardens, Musha used to sit on his head in bed - he liked it (the husband, that is, obviously the cat was delighted!) because it reminded him of home in Ireland where they had always had a lot of animals. Then moving with him to Ireland on the ferry; the ferry was cancelled and we had to drive another 90 mins to Pembroke to catch the ferry in the middle of the night; I was terrified that all four cats would die of the noise in the hold (or at least be permanently deafened) when I left them. Moving to France by car in 2008, he howled a good deal of the time; when we arrived in a small upstairs apartment with no garden, he made it clear that this was not his cup of tea. He paced and shouted every evening until he was released to the downstairs garden at 4 rue des Trois Rois. Finally, in 2011 we arrived here. Everyone approved - and he was just at the right age to appreciate all that hot stone on his little, elderly belly.So many stories ... so much love.

This rose is planted over Musha's grave. Blairii No. 2, it was a favourite of mine from Suffolk. I first bought it because it was recommended to me personally by rose breeder Peter Beales of Attleborough - and I never regretted it. He says of it: 'A favourite of mine. Large, flattish blooms of pale pink with deeper centres. Fragrant, very double and free-flowering.' It's a Bourbon climber, but only flowering once in summer: I found it to be very vigorous in Suffolk. Coincidentally, Peter Beales died in January 2013. Most of the roses in my garden come from his nursery, so perhaps planting one of his favourite roses is a kind of memorial to a great rose grower as well as a great cat. It was a happy chance that I had it on order this winter; it is the first time I have had it since I planted it in my garden in Suffolk in about 1991, four years before Musha was born. But Musha's life was full of serendipity. I am looking forward to seeing it flower at Chatillon. This is a great opportunity to clean up the iris border where Musha is buried and plant some grasses with the irises: Stipa tenuissima, Stipa gigantea and Festuca amythestina. I grew them from seed last year and was wondering where to put them. Around the rose I have planted some bulbs of another old friend, Nerine bowdenii. I bought them the other week on impulse; I knew I wanted them, but was wondering about the best place. Musha has helped me find the right spot ... Thanks to Nick's wisdom, I can go down when it is sunny, have a glass of wine, and sniff Musha's rose.

My sympathies, one of the hardest things I've ever done is bury my whippets. Boots left us March 2011 and Spica 3 years earlier. This March we buried my Sister's dog Dara out under the willow tree on her farm. We've planted crocus and daffodiles over the plots, had originally planted some beautiful lilies but the moles ate them. Musha has a beautiful spot, warm and peaceful:)

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Cathy T

3/24/2013 02:09:47 am

Dear Lynne,
Thanks for your comments re the cat. I think some people are not aware how close we can become to animals
I have been looking at your blog - it's wonderful and I'm sure I will learn a lot. Interesting that you live in BC. I am Canadian by birth (born in Vancouver). I particularly remember the Okanagan (spelling might not be right) valley from my school readers when I was little! My great-aunt, who lived in Ontario, was heavily into gladiolus hybridisation. I can understand the fascination that hybridisation has - I also think it takes a very patient personality! Thanks for visiting - I'm looking forward to reading your blog in the future,

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I learned to love plants many years ago when I gardened in London, but I started to learn how to garden properly when we came to this steep, south-facing slope in rainy north-east France in 2011.